


Families We've Found

by cryptaknight, nightfalltwen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Found Family, M/M, Photography, Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-10-06 15:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17347736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptaknight/pseuds/cryptaknight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfalltwen/pseuds/nightfalltwen
Summary: After the war, after all the trials, Draco Malfoy has had it with the wizarding world of the UK.  He leaves his country and his family and his friends, washing his hands of the lot.  But Theodore Nott is unwilling to let his best friend go and spends the next ten years searching, hitting every dead end possible, until a random photo assignment puts him in the right place at the right time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A joint project between **Nightfalltwen** and **Cryptaknight** and the Slytherin boys we adore.
> 
> As well as some other characters that will appear in later chapters.

**Summer 1999**

The upper gallery was filled with onlookers and Theodore had a difficult time finding a seat. In the past, Wizengamot trials had been closed to the public, but the wizarding community had pushed to keep them open this time around. They wanted to bear witness and see to it that Voldemort's supporters did not escape punishment as they had in the past.

The Nott family had gotten off easy. Theodore's father was not the Death Eater of the family; that role had fallen to Theodore's uncle, the younger of the two. With Bartholomew Nott killed during the Hogwarts battle and Theodore's father and mother having spent the last two years out of the country in Shanghai, there was really no one to punish.

The same could not be said for most of Theodore's friends or their families. 

He watched from the gallery as speedy sentences were handed down on the pureblooded families. Some had their wands stripped, others were told to pay restitutions to the school or the Ministry. It all felt too heavy handed. Especially considering how broken they all were. Mrs Crabbe sobbed into a handkerchief as her husband was remanded to Azkaban for six months. She'd already lost her son and now her husband.

Sucking in a breath, Theodore watched the Malfoy family as they were led into the room. When he'd last spoke to Draco, they'd discussed what would happen after the trial. Draco fully expected to be sent to Azkaban for his role in the war. And as much as Theodore wanted to reassure his friend that they couldn't possibly send him away for doing what was necessary to stay alive, he couldn't find the words to do so.

"The Imperius defense will not work this time, Lucius," said the Chief Warlock from his seat. "You will join your fellow Death Eaters in Azkaban for a period of six months. Your wife..." he gestured with a flick of his fingers.

Narcissa stepped forward and clasped her husband's hand.

"It seems you played a key role during the battle in May of last year, Narcissa Malfoy." The bearded man unfolded a piece of parchment. "Harry Potter has written to us and asked for clemency for you and for your son."

Theodore saw Draco's face flush with anger. Being beholden to Potter was the last thing that Draco would have wanted and might have even been a worse punishment than Azkaban. Theodore didn't think it was that terrible. Better to have a debt to Potter than spend time under a wand confiscation or six months in Azkaban with his father.

In the end clemency was granted. Draco had lied to Bellatrix keep Potter safe and Narcissa had lied to Voldemort himself do the same. The lies they told had saved them from a harsher sentence by the ministry, but it was little comfort, it seemed, to the angry voices that cried foul from the seats around him.

Theodore looked down from the gallery and tried to catch Draco's eye, but he could only watch as Draco marched sullenly out of the Wizengamot chambers looking more defeated than Theodore had ever seen him.

The next morning he received a letter. Only it was less of a letter and more like a note passed in class.

_I'm done here.  
~D_

And that was it. Draco had vanished.

§§§§§

**May 2009**

Theodore pushed his sunglasses up into his hair and drew a notebook out of a pocket in his satchel. He looked over the list and checked off a few of the items that _Travel! Marrakesh_ had requested before shoving the little book back into his bag and heading deeper into the busy Souk. The vendor stalls were tightly packed and even though it was a random Tuesday in May, the market was busy with visitors, all of them haggling for the best price.

He waited for the crowds to part and then stretched out on his stomach, snapping photos of the marketplace from a new angle. A few people gave him strange looks as they passed, but ultimately ignored what he was doing, dismissing him as just another odd tourist.

Years ago he never would have seen himself following this career path. His photos were now being requested by muggle publications alongside the wizarding ones. It helped Theodore to straddle the muggle and magical worlds with an ease that he'd never thought possible in his youth. His father, of course, had always expected Theodore to follow through and take over the family business, taking up managing pureblooded accounts and investments with Gringotts, but Theodore couldn't face the idea of chaining himself to a desk for the rest of his life. The thought of it was suffocating and he wanted the freedom to leave England at the drop of a hat.

Living from a suitcase wasn't quite as terrible these days.

"You need stability, son," Archibald had said over supper one evening, three years into Draco's disappearance. 

"I haven't had that for years," Theodore had replied, pinching a dumpling between the ends of his chopsticks. "My friends are my stability and I'm missing one of them."

"But we see your face, darling," Meifeng had extended a hand across to touch his wrist. "Every time those letters arrive with news that turns out to be false hope. It breaks my heart."

The letters of which she spoke were few and far between these days, the private investigators that he'd hired had run out of leads and he could count on only one hand the ones who had kept him an active client. The rest had closed their cases. They'd all told him the same thing. If Draco was still alive and wanted to be found, he would be found. Theodore hated that statement. He hated that they thought he was chasing a ghost. The first time one of the investigators had said it, Theodore had lashed out leaving the man with a broken nose and Theodore with two broken fingers. 

It turned out that punching someone hurt a lot more than he'd expected.

But Theodore didn't believe any of them. He refused to believe that Draco had gotten himself killed and he refused to believe that Draco was impossible to find.

Or at least that had been the mindset in the beginning. As the years passed, it was harder and harder to stay dedicated to that belief.

Theodore backed up against a stone wall and flipped open the back of his camera, tipping the roll of finished film into his palm and tucking it into his pocket. He dug out another roll and carefully replaced it before snapping the back closed. Then giving the tables and patrons a cursory glance, he slid through the barrier to his left and into the wizarding side of the market where the stalls became much more fantastic in the wares that they sold.

Lifting his camera, Theodore began taking photos.

§§§§§

Draco's hand froze, mid-sale. He blinked his eyes twice in rapid succession, willing his vision to clear and reveal that his eyes had been playing tricks on him. This was not possible. He was a world away from England, physically and culturally.

And yet.

Theodore Nott cut an unmistakable figure in any crowd, even if his clothing was a far cry from the bespoke suits and high end tailoring to which Draco had also once been accustomed. Never mind that he held a camera of all things, that he wore sunglasses pushed up into his dark straight hair. It was him.

"Is something wrong?" 

Draco dragged his attention back to the customer standing in front of him. The man held his hand out expectantly, a questioning look on his face.

"No, of course not," Draco said in impeccable French. "My apologies."

He handed the potion over to his customer, briefly explaining its best use before sending the man on his way. All the while, he kept cutting his eyes over into the crowd, carefully watching Theodore's progress down the street. Theodore kept lifting his camera, snapping photographs of the lively marketplace. Draco saw the contraption pointed toward his stall, and panicked.

"Anwar, take over." Draco hastily untied his apron, stuffing it into a messenger bag.

Anwar looked at him quizzically. Draco's assistant was a skinny fourteen year old boy, and the extent of his responsibilities usually was limited to tracking down ingredients from merchants who spoke only Arabic, not French or English, and pouring and corking phials. His father had arranged an apprenticeship of sorts with Draco for his son, and Draco had been glad for the help and someone to take over the stall when he inevitably moved on. He had a steady stream of customers who would be disappointed to find him vanished otherwise.

"Please. I'm not feeling well."

Draco's eyes darted back and forth. Theodore was nearly upon them.

"Just bring the money by my flat when you finish for the day."

Anwar shrugged. "Alright, then." He paused. He was not used to seeing Draco flustered at all, and supposed his boss' lunch must have severely disagreed with him, for him to be taken ill so suddenly. "Feel better."

Draco nodded sharply, a single thrust of his chin, and fled.

§§§§§

Dipping his tweezers into the rinsing solution, Theodore pulled out the last of the pictures he had been working on. Above him floated a bubble that glowed a very dim red and strung across the room were black and white photos clipped to drying wires. He held the wet photo above the rinse bin for a few moments, letting the drips fall into the tray before hanging it with the others. The pictures from Morocco had turned out as expected, the stalls, the deserts, the buildings, the hustle and bustle of the city. The magazine would have a wide selection to choose from.

As for the wizarding pictures, Theodore had already promised the majority of the photos to the new travel writer for the _Daily Prophet_ to use. Spells to convert the images from fixed to moving would be added by the newspaper upon delivery, so all he had to do was wait. As he did, Theodore slowly walked along the drying line, checking over each of the photos for irregularities or damage. One was a little blurry and he vanished it away with the rest of the developing solutions.

It wasn't until he got to the second to last photo that he did a double take. It had been one of the pictures he'd taken just before stopping to buy some sunscreen potions for his trip out into the desert outside of the city. 

Theodore looked at the photo and then looked up at the dimly glowing orb. He normally didn't involve any magic in the drying process of his photos, but he didn't want to wait and he didn't want to expose the rest of them to bright light before they were done. Unclipping the one photo, he flicked his wand across the surface. The paper dried and he quickly slipped out of the room, leaving the rest.

" _Finally_ ," Pansy said, tossing aside her magazine. "It's been ages and your elf wouldn't let me knock on your photo room door. Said I had to wait."

"Baz is just doing what I asked him to do," Theodore said lightly, greeting her with a kiss to her cheek. "You can't fault him for that."

"I can, you know. He knows who I am..."

"And he knows who he is loyal to, darling." Theodore strode toward the dining room, stopping at a roll-top desk in the hallway where he found a magnifying glass. 

Pansy let out a frustrated noise at having no other choice but to follow Theodore as he moved throughout the expansive flat. "I'm going to take this whole 'you not being dressed in something other than manky travel clothing' thing to mean that you've forgotten that we were going to a luncheon at the Greengrass manor."

Theodore looked at her for a long moment, still holding the magnifying glass. "I..."

Pansy sighed. "You did promise to save me from the gossip, Theodore."

She was right. He had promised to accompany her to Daphne and Blaise's engagement luncheon. With the last minute contract for _Travel! Marrakesh_ , the event had slipped his mind. Giving his head a bit of a shake, he turned to face Pansy and promised that he could be ready in twenty minutes and that they would be tastefully and fashionably late as expected.

Locking himself in the ensuite, Theodore turned on the shower, calling for Baz to put out an appropriate change of clothes. Holding the photo up against the door, Theodore hovered the magnifying glass over the middle of the image. He swallowed and set them on the side of the vanity, stripping out of his work clothes and stepping in under the running water.

The potions stall stood at the very end of one of the rows of tables. The photo showed a young boy, maybe no more than fourteen, was holding a parcel out to a witch in a headscarf. His attention was directed to the side, a confused look on his face. But it wasn't the boy that Theodore had focused on. Instead it was the profile of the man who was walking away. He hadn't seen that profile for years. But it was the same. The same nose. The same set jaw. The same blond hair. Theodore would have recognised it anywhere.

Draco.

Scrubbing his face, Theodore glanced over to where the photo sat, his thoughts spinning. He had to go back.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco had made it back to his flat in Morocco without being pursued down the street. With every slap of his shoe against the pavement, he'd expected to hear Theodore's deep voice booming out his name, but he'd arrived at his front door without incident. Once inside, it had taken a full hour for his breathing to become normal again.

He'd pled illness the next day, as well, in case Theodore had seen him and decided to track him down in the market. After thoroughly grilling Anwar about the customers that had visited that day, he'd concluded Theodore had not done so. A narrow escape. Draco had remained nervous for the remainder of the week, tense every time he heard a posh English accent, but Theodore had not reappeared. 

Draco didn't know why he didn't simply leave Marrakesh. He'd been traveling for years, never staying very long in any place. He'd wandered through every city in the world, it seemed like, learning different potions skills, earning money and lessons in whatever way he could. When he felt like he'd learnt all he could from a particular potions maker, or whenever his gut instinct told him it was time, he'd moved on to the next place. It was a strange life, after spending most of his childhood and young adulthood divided between Hogwarts and Malfoy Manor, but he'd become comfortable learning the nooks and crannies of a new city or village, meeting new people, and adapting to the vagaries of various potions masters. Marrakesh was the first place where he'd been the master and taken on his own student.

That was not why he seemed frozen in place, though. He'd not allowed himself to get attached to Anwar, knowing he'd be leaving before a year was out. It perplexed him - this was also the closest he'd ever come to being found. There had been another close call, in Paris, but the local gossip column had warned him that Pansy was in town long before she'd ever have thought to visit the back alley potions shop where he'd been learning how to make memory enhancing draughts. Frozen he seemed be, however. Like some kind of automaton, he got up early every morning to brew potions, and spent his afternoons in the marketplace. It was as though he was tempting fate, daring the universe to bring everything crashing down upon his head, by becoming mired in routine. By complete inaction.

I should pack, he thought, every evening, looking around his bare little flat. It would only take a matter of minutes. And then he'd make his tea, read a chapter of his book, and go to bed. 

He remained in a holding pattern.

"Master, it's time to head to market." 

Anwar's voice broke through Draco's thoughts, and Draco looked up, though his pestle did not stop moving. Sweet dream potions were notoriously fussy. One step out of line and they'd take on some horrible side effect. Being called master still made him frown a little. He might have the skill set of a master, but he hadn't applied for official certification. That would require submitting his name and location and undergoing examination, which he was unwilling to do.

"A moment, please. Hand me the sopophorous bean."

Anwar dropped the bean into Draco's free hand. Draco carefully added in the final ingredient, making sure it was thoroughly crushed and blended. The potion gave off the tell-tale poof of tangerine smoke. He quickly poured it into phials. They were shaped like crescent moons, which he thought was a nice touch. 

Dusting his hands against his thighs, he tipped his head toward his apprentice.

"Alright. Off to market."

§§§§§

"I thought you were finished with that project," Theodore's mother carefully leaned across the table and tipped the teapot, filling his cup. "Not that I mind having your elf back at the house to do extra work, but you haven't ever left him with us before."

"It's a personal trip," Theodore said, swirling his spoon around in the hot liquid. "And I don't know how long I will be."

Meifeng set down the teapot and took a seat. Theodore focused on the drink in front of him, not wanting to meet her steady gaze. His mother had an uncanny way of pulling the truth out of him without saying a word. She'd done it when he was eight and he'd taken a horse that was too big for him to handle out of the stables for a ride only to be thrown and then watch the massive animal disappear across the field in a mad gallop. It had taken all their stable elves an entire afternoon to find and retrieve the enormous beast. And when she'd gotten the truth out of him, Theodore had been relegated to grooming. He'd not been allowed to ride unattended for the rest of the year.

"You don't know that it's him." His mother unfolded a cloth napkin, laying it across her lap.

Theodore looked up sharply, glad that he hadn't been mid sip. "How did–"

"Darling, you are only ever this vague about your travels when it involves Draco Malfoy. And the last time you left like this, when you went to Indonesia for two months, it turned out to be a false lead. It took you so long to recover from that."

Theodore scowled and looked down the long table, not wanting to admit that he'd also thought about that ill-fated trip to Indonesia. He'd been so _sure_ that he was on the right track. The private investigator's description had sounded so much like Draco that he'd dropped everything and gotten the first portkey he could. But by the time he'd arrived in Jakarta, the lead had fizzled. He'd spent weeks questioning the people in the magical district with no luck and never knowing if he'd ever been in the right location and it had been the worst feeling he'd ever felt.

"It's different this time," Theodore said. "I have photos."

One photo. But she didn't need to know that.

His mother pressed a slender finger to the crease between her brows and let out slow breath. She then flattened her hands on the top of the table and gave Theodore a nod. The relief that washed over him was immediate. He knew that he was an adult. He knew that he didn't necessarily need his mother's permission to leave. And yet he still sought out her approval. Getting it was a weight off his shoulders.

They finished their tea together in silence. When he was done, Theodore rose and crossed over to Meifeng's side of the table, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple and promising to be keep in touch. She reached up and squeezed his arm before shooing him on his way. Grabbing the bags, his camera and his clothes, by the door, Theodore stepped out into the grey morning.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a tatty wallet the portkey office had given him before checking his watch. He had just enough time to get himself to the field beyond the stables.

The next thing he knew, he was standing in the middle of the portkey office in Marrakesh.

Theodore shifted his camera bag on his shoulder and held out his travel documents. The officer behind the intake desk inspected the papers before placing a stamp on each and welcoming Theodore to the country. Just like that he was in Morocco. As he stepped outside into the sunshine and heat, Theodore felt an almost icy sense of dread come over him. What if it had all been a mistake? What if he was imagining that the man in the picture was Draco? What if Draco had been in the market that day and he'd foolishly missed his chance?

Clenching his fists, Theodore took a breath and stamped down the worried thoughts.

There was no sense in getting worked up over 'what ifs' he told himself and apparated to the wizarding hotel just outside of the market. The young woman behind the desk brightened when he walked up, remembering him from his last trip. He vaguely listened to her small talk, nodding every now and then at her questions as he signed the register. She handed over the key and batted her eyelashes, seemingly hoping for more than a casual goodbye. Theodore forced a smile, but feigned exhaustion, extricating himself from the conversation by claiming he needed to have a lie down. Dropping his things on the bed, he dug out his camera and the photo he had of the potions stall before making sure to lock the door behind him when he left.

Taking the emergency stairs, he stepped back out into the sun and the heat and headed straight for the magical souk.

§§§§§

Business had been brisk that day. So brisk, in fact, that Draco hadn't had time to feel anxious. There were simply too many customers for his focus to be anywhere else, even with Anwar's help. There had been a bit of a stomach bug going around, and his anti-nausea potion had been flying out of the stall. He'd completely run out, and was now taking orders for tomorrow. He'd be up late brewing tonight, but it would be worth it.

His sweet dream potion had been selling well, too. That pleased him inordinately, as it was his own recipe, with a few little unique Malfoy touches that his patrons would not be able to find elsewhere. He was still debating whether or not to give the full recipe to his student.

Anwar was tapped him on the shoulder. Draco shrugged him off- he was busy calculating whether he had enough ingredients in his stores to complete the orders he'd taken, or if he needed to venture further down the market for some raw ingredients. The boy tapped him again. Irritated, Draco answered without looking up from his calculations.

"I told you, we're out of the anti-nausea draught. Get the name from whoever wants them, and I'll add them to the list," he said impatiently. Murmuring to himself, he continued, "I'll have to pick up more ginger, but Hadiya down the way should have plenty…"

"Master," Anwar began. Draco cut him off with a slash of his hand, finally looking up.

"What?" Draco barked, his annoyance thinning his lips and narrowing his eyes.

"This man says he knows you," the boy said, his voice dropping an octave. "I told him your name is not Draco Malfoy, but he would not listen. He insists."

Draco stomach dropped on hearing Anwar's words, and when he followed the line of Anwar's hand, which was unobtrusively gesturing toward the front left side of the stall, and the color- what little there was- drained from his face. There stood Theodore Nott in all his glory, that damned camera slung around his neck, looking for all the world like one of the wealthy tourists that frequented the market, and a far cry from the impeccably tailored man Draco had known nearly all his life.

"Well. _Merde._ "

§§§§§

_Spring 1987_

"Welcome home, Archibald! It has been too long."

The tall, blonde woman leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his father's cheeks, one on each side. Theodore looked at the woman and then to his mother, waiting for a reaction, but saw none. Either Meifeng had chosen to ignore the intimate touch or she was seething beneath her carefully arranged expression. Theodore scowled. He didn't like that the woman had kissed his father and promptly decided that he ought to hate her and her entire family for the slight against his mother.

"Draco." The man behind the woman gestured with a gloved hand. "Say hello to the Nott family. Their son will be at Hogwarts with you."

That was not the first time that Theodore had heard the name 'Hogwarts' before. His father had spoken of the old British school with fondness and Theodore had been looking forward to attending. But having to spend all those years at school with the son of a family that he was now preparing to hate forever was not appealing in the slightest. Theodore crossed his arms over his chest and turned to face his mother.

"I want to go back," he said in rapid Mandarin, refusing to speak English in front of this most hated family. "I do not like this house or this place. Or _them_." He pointed irritably at the family standing in front of them.

"The Malfoys are our guests tonight, Theodore. They are very old friends to the Nott family and we have welcomed them into our home." Meifeng answered in English, her tone stern. She crouched down and placed her hand on Theodore's shoulder. "You will be respectful."

"No! I hate them!" Theodore shouted, wrenching himself away from his mother. He spun around and dashed off down the hallway toward the back of the house.

It was much later in the evening when Theodore was happened upon by Draco. He'd hidden himself away in his father's study, poking at boxes that hadn't yet been unpacked from the move. He was hungry; his stomach had been noisily protesting for practically forever and it was obvious that no one, not even the house elves, cared if he starved to death or not. When the door creaked open, a smile brightened Theodore's face. Finally. Someone had come for him.

The smile was short lived when he saw who was standing in the doorway.

"Your father lets you in his study?" Draco asked, stepping further into the room.

"I'm allowed to go anywhere," Theodore said, raising his nose slightly and looking away from the other boy. It wasn't exactly true. He'd only ended up in the study because of all the rooms in the enormous house, it was the one he knew how to find. But he wasn't about to tell that to the likes of Draco Malfoy.

"Good. Then you can take me back to my mum," Draco said imperiously. "I'm lost and none of your house elves have come when I called." He shook his finger. "You should punish them more."

Theodore huffed and crossed his arms, not liking how Draco was talking to him as if he was the person in charge of the house instead of just the guest. Of course Baz wouldn't answer Draco's demands. The head elf was probably busy tending to the adults and making sure their needs were met. It wasn't as if Draco was in any danger. Theodore marched out of the study and into the hallway, not turning to see if the other boy was following.

"If this were Malfoy Manor," Draco said, falling in step beside Theodore, "I wouldn't have to worry about getting lost."

"This house is bigger."

"They're the same size," Draco said. "It's just shaped all funny."

Theodore glanced over at the other boy who was walking with his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers, a scowl on his face. He was about to point out that his father had said that the Estate was easily twice the size of the other homes belonging to the 'Sacred Twenty-Eight' (who those people were, Theodore didn't know), but his thoughts were derailed when he realised he'd turned a few too many times and didn't recognise the corridor they were in. He stopped and looked back to where they'd come but couldn't remember if he'd turned left or right.

"See. Shaped all funny." Draco drew out a hand and waved at Theodore. "Go on. Call for your elf."

Pinching his lips together, Theodore heaved on a door, which opened to reveal stairs that descended deeper into the house. "I don't _need_ my elf," he said. "This is my house and I know the way."

But he didn't. Not really. This set of stairs wasn't one he'd used in the eleven days they'd been living at the Estate, which was much bigger than the house they'd had in Shanghai. They spiraled down into darkness, but as the boys took to the steps, candles that lined the wall burst into flame, lighting the path ahead of them. Looking up, Theodore could see the spider webs that clung to the underside of the stairs. No one had been this way in a very long time.

Just when he thought he might admit defeat and call out for a house elf to come to their aid, voices could be heard from below. Picking up their pace, both boys started hurrying down the steps. Theodore moving quickly because he wanted out of this dusty stairwell and to prove that he hadn't been scared of being lost forever. Draco moving quickly because Theodore was. They both hit the bottom of the stairwell at the same time, a large door in front of them and the voices coming from the lighted space at the bottom.

Theodore raised his chin triumphantly. He was a natural at figuring out his own house and this only proved it. Reaching for the heavy doorknob, he heaved his shoulder against the door. It swung open and a cloud of warm, savory air wafted out into the stairwell. Inside they could see two of the kitchen elves carrying a large wok between the pair of them. Baz, the elf they'd had in Shanghai, stood on a tall stool, stirring something in a large soup pot. Theodore hoped it was Yāndǔxiān; the hearty pork soup was his very favourite.

Baz turned to face the two boys, wide eyes blinking owlishly. "Master Theodore and his guest should not be in the kitchens," he said, hopping down from the stool and coming over to where the boys stood. Beside Theo, Draco took a step back looking uneasy as the elf drew closer.

"I'm hungry, Baz," Theodore said, hands on his hips.

Baz considered the two boys for a moment and then snapped his knobby fingers at one of the other kitchen elves. "Master Theodore and his guest need supper."

Theodore almost settled for that. He was hungry enough and the smells in the kitchen were starting to make his stomach grumble. The elves started scurrying around the room, getting large plates and bowls, setting up a small table and bench next to the fireplace. Theodore took a step towards the table, his mouth watering at the steaming basket full of dumplings, but stopped. It wouldn't do to have the elves dictate what his meal would be. Especially not in front of Draco. Theodore turned, hands on his hips again.

"Not supper, Baz. I want dessert."

"Mistress would not—"

"I _want_ dessert, Baz. I want ice cream. And I'm the master so you have to listen to me."

The elf looked at Theodore for a long moment and it made Theodore feel very strange inside, like he'd done something wrong. The urge to apologise to Baz was very strong, but the urge to keep up appearances in front of Draco was much stronger. He'd say sorry to Baz in the morning, when Draco wasn't around, and hope that the old elf wouldn't hate him too much after all of this.

"Dessert," the elf barked at the others.

Soon the dumplings and steaming plates were replaced by tubs of ice cream and bowls of toppings. It was more than Theodore had expected. He looked at Draco, the pair of them exchanging excited looks, before they both dashed forward and started loading bowls with whatever confection they could reach. He smiled watching Draco crumble sweet biscuits over the top of his ice cream before adding scoops of whipped cream and jewel-red cherries in a perfectly constructed spiral. Theodore followed suit and even took a few suggestions from the other boy.

The sticky mess was glorious.

And perhaps Draco wasn't so bad after all.

It was hours later when Meifeng and Narcissa found the boys. After their refusal to leave the kitchens (and the food), Baz had set out a blanket for the pair in front of the open hearth. It didn't take long for full bellies and heat from the fire to cause eyes to droop and sleep to come. The two boys had curled up together, the crackling flames warming their heads, their arms tangled around each other. Meifeng waved her wand to levitate the the pair for easier carrying. Narcissa wrapped her arms around Draco, vanishing away the smears of chocolate from the young boy's face.

The Malfoys bid the Notts goodbye, departed, and Meifeng took Theodore up to his room.

His eyes fluttered open as she lowered him to the plush quilt. Meifeng touched his cheek and brushed back his hair from his forehead. 

"Do you still want to go back to Shanghai?"

He shook his head sleepily and turned on his side. "No, I'll stay."

"And you don't hate the Malfoys, do you?"

Another head shake, his blinks becoming slower and slower. "No," Theodore said in the middle of a yawn, tucking his arm under his pillow. "Draco is my very best friend forever."

"I thought so," she said with a smile, leaning forward to kiss his cheek.

§§§§§

The market had gone silent around him, the tumble of foreign voices were muted by the roar in Theodore's ears. In Indonesia, where any lead on Draco's whereabouts had dried up, he hadn't expected to be so devastated by the failure. This time he'd prepared himself. If Draco wasn't at the market in Marrakesh, Theodore would still keep searching. And there was a tiny part of him that hoped that his friend actually _wasn't_ there because he'd not prepared himself for what to say to Draco once they were face to face. Now that they were, all he could do was stand there, mouth partially open, words catching in the back of his throat.

'Oh shit' was right.

Theodore lifted the camera and ducked out from under the strap, setting the whole thing on the edge of Draco's market stand. Sucking in a breath, he found his voice. "I'm impressed," he said, finally. "I never thought you'd be this hard to track down."


	3. Chapter 3

Draco distracted himself from the fact that Theodore Nott was in the sparsely furnished and decorated sitting room of his [small flat](https://www.shamshome-realestate.com/long-term-rental-apartment-marrakech-1-259.html) by being very fussy with the tea he was brewing. He tried to refrain from constantly looking over his shoulder at Theodore's tall form lounging on the long, low couch that was typical in Moroccan decor. Draco hadn't known what else to do, other than invite Theo home. The conversation they needed to have was not one to be held in front of Anwar.

Draco had frozen for several very long beats before responding to Theodore's glib greeting. Finally, he'd said, "To be fair, I didn't really think anyone would put such effort into looking."

Then he'd awkwardly invited Theodore for tea, and asked Anwar to watch the stall. Which brought them here, with Theodore looking entirely too tall for Draco's furnishings, and Draco intent on brewing Maghrebi like it was Felix Felicis. Finally, Draco had to admit to himself that the tea was brewed, and poured out two cups of the sweet, minty beverage, flicking his wand at the cups so they would follow him out to the sitting area.

Another awkward silence ensued once each man had a cup in hand. When Draco could bear it no longer, he asked, "What brings you to Marrakesh, then? Sightseeing?" 

He gestured toward the camera, at Theo's side on the couch. Draco knew full well from Theodore's opening comment that it was no coincidence the other man had ended up at his potions stall, but it seemed easier to give him an opening to ask questions than to immediately jump into defensive mode. Draco's mind was going a mile a minute- How had Theo found him? Why? Did anyone else know? What did Theodore want of him?- but he held his tongue for now, and took a sip of the tea.

"This time?" Theodore asked, resting the cup against his knee, his fingers hooked in the handle. "You."

He looked down at the camera and reached with a free hand to fiddle with the strap. He'd had a whole speech planned. Or at least he'd had the bullet points. Except nothing seemed right and he'd not missed the uneasy expression that Draco had been sporting the moment they'd crossed paths. Ten years since the last time he'd clapped eyes on the man and he still recognized it as if it were sixth year and Draco was pushing all of them away.

"Previously... I was on assignment for a travel magazine. Muggle one. And a few for the travel section of _The Prophet_." Lifting the cup to his lips, Theodore took a sip before leaning forward and setting the cup onto a coaster sitting on the low coffee table. He couldn't carry on with the small talk, his mind going back to Draco's response out in the market. "How could you think that I wouldn't spend the last ten years looking for you?"

He rested his forearms against his knees and stared at Draco. "You're my best friend and you disappeared on me."

"A Muggle magazine?" Draco said, lifting an eyebrow. It was the least important bit of what Theodore had said, and therefore the easiest to zero in on. "How progressive."

Not that Draco didn't do plenty of business with Muggles on a fairly regular basis these days. But he'd always been an oddity of sorts amongst his friends- either too Dark, taking the Mark at sixteen and working actively for the Death Eater cause, or too much a blood traitor, helping Potter escape from the Dark Lord and rebelling against what had been asked of him with every fibre of his being. Draco struggled to find a comfortable middle, though his recent life had been the most comfortable yet. Now, here was Theodore, dragging every raw feeling screaming to the surface, until he felt like an eighteen year old child again.

Draco could tell Theodore wasn't going to be put off by a quip about Muggles, not if the look on his friend's face was anything to go by. With a sigh, he set his cup on its saucer, and left it to float nearby. 

"I disappeared on _everyone_ , to be fair." Draco raked his hand back through his hair, frowning as he looked away from Theo's too-inquisitive stare. "I didn't really think anyone would care enough to chase me down. Maybe check in with my family in France, my connections in Bulgaria. But after that? I imagined it would be far too much work for anyone to do on my behalf."

"I know you did. Do you know how vexed Pansy was for the first few years and then how irritated she kept getting when I would chase down every new lead I got? I haven't even told her about all of this, yet." Theodore waved his hand around. "She'll probably tear out my spleen when she finds out I didn't tell her."

He wasn't sure why he hadn't told Pansy about the possibility of finding Draco. Maybe because he'd not wanted to disappoint her or maybe because he'd wanted to keep this for himself and himself alone. Only his mother knew through her way of knowing just what was going on in his head and his inability to keep even the smallest of secrets from her.

"I did check on your parents every now and then. If you were writing your mum, she never told me." 

Theodore rubbed the back of his neck. Narcissa Malfoy had allowed him a few visits, but they'd always been cut short and the conversation had never been very informative which had been frustrating to no end. He'd always thought that surely she could tell how much Draco's absence was affecting his friends. But nothing had been said and Theodore had always left the manor with more questions than he'd had before arriving until he simply chose to stop chasing down that particular rabbit hole.

After a long pause, he sat back and looked across at Draco. "So were you ever in Indonesia? About four years ago?"

Theodore's question drew Draco's eyes sharply to his friend's face, startled into making eye contact. 

"I… yes," he stammered. Draco inhaled, willing himself to stay calm, to forbid the anxiety he could already feel crawling up from his stomach. "Briefly. After I got tired of using Polyjuice."

Immediately after leaving England, Draco had mostly stayed in familiar areas, areas where he could navigate easily and speak the language- which meant mostly in Europe. But he was too recognizable as the Malfoy scion to most magic houses in Europe, a fact which had once made him unbearably proud, but which was vastly annoying when one was on the lam. He'd made Polyjuice a regular part of his diet, altering his appearance for each location. The damned stuff tasted revolting, however, and eventually the necessity of having to constantly sip from a flask had worn thin. Moving on to more exotic climes had rendered him one of the crowd, even with his white blonde Malfoy hair and the slate grey eyes that were the mark of a spot on the Black family tree. 

Clearly he was now paying for his recklessness. Especially if Theodore had managed to follow him to Indonesia, as well as here in Marrakesh. Draco supposed he ought to be pleased that at least Theo hadn't shared his whereabouts with Pansy or anyone else.

"And I didn't write Mum. I wanted to, but she'd have told Father, and he would have found me, even from the bowels of Azkaban. She got a farewell letter when I left England, the same as you." Draco paused, a bit of red stain creeping up his neck. "I, ah, did arrange that flowers be sent to her every year for her birthday."

He reached for his tea again, taking comfort from its warmth. "That said, I still don't understand why you've gone to so much trouble."

Theodore had started to smile, almost entirely too pleased with himself. When he'd returned from Jakarta, everyone had said it must have just been bad information. They'd said he'd just followed the wrong lead or the investigator he'd been working with had gotten it all wrong. But now there was the admission from Draco himself. He _had_ been in Indonesia. Granted he'd been too late and missed finding Draco back then, but the lead had been solid. He'd been on the right path.

The smile, however, was short lived. 

"A letter?" he asked. "Was hers only three words as well? Or was I just the lucky one to get something that short?"

He wanted to be furious, he really did, but he was also terrified. If he stormed out of the flat, what stopped Draco from picking up and disappearing into thin air? Nothing, that's what. And it wasn't even that he was looking for explanation. Somewhere deep inside he knew why Draco had left. While he himself had kept a low profile and escaped much of the scrutiny those first few years, he'd seen how it had broken down a lot of his classmates. Pansy had carried a label for years as the girl who suggested giving Potter up to the Dark Lord. Goyle had been in trouble recently with the Ministry and last he heard Millicent was living in Yorkshire looking after her grandmother.

"You gave up," he said, maybe a little more accusatory than he would have liked. "All of you. Blaise and the Greengrass girls are starting to come around and Pansy seems to have recovered... but all of you gave up. I would have stood by you, Draco, but you never gave me the chance to say so. You just disappeared."

He took a breath. "Did you think I wouldn't care if you left? After everything we've been through together?"

Draco pressed his lips together, thinning them to a hard line, and set his tea aside. Theodore was more dear to him than Draco knew how to express, and knew him in ways no one else in their circle did, but there were some things Theo simply could not understand. Theodore might know Draco better than any other human being, but he was not a Malfoy, and he could not know what it was to wear the yoke of that name around his neck.

"I… I just…" Draco drew in a breath, and released it in a sharp sigh. He hated when he stammered. "I don't _want_ all that any longer. Greengrass girls and Slytherin society and the bleeding British wizarding world." It came out harsh, and Draco felt immediately awful. Theodore was simply trying to understand. More quietly, he continued, "I'm happy, Theodore. The only thing really missing is you. I knew you would care, but I just couldn't bear it any longer. I felt like I was suffocating."

He held Theodore's gaze with a hard stare, willing him to understand. They'd always been able to get on the same page with simply a look, and Draco hoped that they hadn't lost that. Words were not always his forte, not when it came to the difficult subjects. He needed Theodore to know that he'd never intended to hurt him; losing contact with him was one of the biggest sacrifices Draco had ever made. 

"I thought you would go on. I didn't expect obsessive looking. For what? Why should I be worth so much trouble?" Draco rubbed at his face. "You've always been so … resilient." He smiled bitterly. "I wish I had some of that."

He stood, unable to remain still any longer. He began pacing the length of the sitting room as he spoke. "So now what? Are you going to drag me back to England? Announce you've found me so my mum and Pansy and those of our _friends_ who deign to find me acceptable can descend upon me?"

There was no heat in his voice. Just weariness. He was delighted to see Theodore, a thrill that went through him every time Theo spoke and Draco realized that he was really here, in his flat halfway around the world. But he could also feel the weight settling on his shoulders, and he was mentally preparing for his new life to be ripped to shreds.

All at once the wind went out of Theodore's sails as he realised that he didn't have a plan. He'd been so focused on the chase, the pursuit of Draco, that he hadn't even realised that he would need to have something planned for after he found the other man. It was then that he realised that all this time, over the last ten years, a part of him must have always thought that he was never going to find Draco. The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. 

A part of him had finally listened to what everyone else was saying and had actually given up on Draco. He was almost ashamed of himself.

"I don't know," he admitted finally, leaning forward. His forearms rested against his knees and he wrung his hands together. "I didn't think about what to do after I found you. All I wanted was my best friend back. It's selfish, but I honestly don't give a fuck. If you want to stay here, fine. But I don't want to lose track of you again."

Shifting uncomfortably on the sofa, Theodore reached over and pulled the camera onto his lap, twisting and untwisting the strap around his hand. The silence that started to fill the space between them became awkward and prickly.

"Had you asked, I would have come with you."

Maybe that's why that letter had hurt so much, Theodore thought. Draco had left and not once had he hinted that he was going to leave. Theodore would have offered to go with him. Had Draco asked, he would have packed his bags at a moment's notice and left. Anything would have been better than this stagnant standstill he'd been living in for the last ten years.

He looked up from his camera and forced out a half smile. He didn't want to fight with Draco or be angry or have Draco angry with him.

"I'll admit, though, that I'm surprised you chose Morocco... also Indonesia. I was under the distinct impression that you hated to sweat."

The corner of Draco's mouth lifted in a weak smirk, and he came to a stop in his pacing directly in front of Theodore. 

"Please, do give me some credit for cleverness. I know I've done some very thick-headed things, but going to the places one would least expect seems like a pretty basic gambit when someone doesn't wish to be found."

Draco twitched his fingers, summoning his tea cup back into his hand. He'd always gotten a small sense of pleasure from showing off his wandless magic skills, and it was fairly reflexive at this point. He took a sip, then set the cup back down on the saucer that hovered near his waist. 

"So I suppose we need a plan, then?" He frowned. "I'm not going back to England. And I do rather like Morocco. I have an apprentice, you know."

Anwar was not quite ready to take over Draco's potions trade. He was a clever lad, but he was yet a teenager with all the impulsivity and poor decision making skills that came along with that. Anwar might be more dedicated and reliable than most, but a pretty girl could distract him for the better part of a day, and a petty squabble with a friend would occupy his mind when he should be focused on stirring a cauldron.

"What are your, ah, obligations?" Draco asked carefully, suddenly and awkwardly aware that he knew very little about his best friend's life. He surreptitiously checked Theodore's left hand, and did not see a wedding ring, but that didn't mean the other man didn't have a life and responsibilities that tied him to Great Britain.

"Then the plan is you don't go back," Theodore said with a nod.

He'd meant what he'd said. He didn't care if Draco didn't want to leave his new life. If it meant not sharing the knowledge that he'd found Draco, Theodore was perfectly willing to capitulate. But that didn't mean he was going to back off so easily. Not since he'd finally felt like the part of him that had been missing for so long was finally back where it belonged.

"Obligations?" he asked, his attention falling back onto the last thing that Draco had said. "None really. My job can be done from anywhere in the world and Baz closed up the flat, returning to the manor to work for my parents..."

He trailed off, realizing after a short moment that those hadn't been the obligations to which Draco had been referring. A strange embarrassing flush seemed to creep up his neck and he was glad to be holding the camera which kept his hands occupied.

It wasn't a subject that had been completely off the table between him and his parents. However, his mother had realised early on that pushing for him to settle down with a good wife was better left until after he had either found Draco or given up on the search. Now his mind raced, wondering what plans she would put into motion as soon as he wrote home. This certainly wasn't something he could keep a secret from her. She would know the moment she saw his face.

Theodore shook off the thoughts and returned his attention to the man standing across from him.

"I don't have anything that requires me to return back to England. I'd like to stay for a visit. If you'll have me."

Draco fought to keep relief from flooding his face. He'd told himself for years that he was fine sacrificing important parts of his former life, but now that one of the most important parts was standing directly in front of him, he found himself reluctant to let go again. 

"I was hoping that would be your answer. It would be nice to catch up." Draco knew that was rather weak, but anything else seemed to verge on overeager. "My flat is your flat, such as it is." He gestured vaguely around. The flat was nice enough, but hardly the lap of pureblooded luxury.

Draco's eyes landed on the clock. Shite. It was nearly time to close up the stall. 

"I've got to get back to the market and help Anwar pack up for the day. Would you like to come and make his proper acquaintance? If you're going to be hanging about, I suppose he should know who you are."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor character death in this chapter

There was a steady tapping on the window above Theodore's head that pulled him from the dusty corners of sleep. He rubbed the back of his neck, massaging away the slight kink that he'd come to expect from having stretched out on Draco's sofa. There had been offers of transfiguring the furniture, but he hadn't wanted to upheave Draco's life any more than he already had, so he'd declined. A sofa was fine. He'd slept on worse while on a photography assignment. He didn't need to keep his room at the hotel.

Now, two weeks in, Theodore was starting to regret the decision. Just a little.

The flat was quiet, aside from the tapping at the window. The first morning he'd woken out of a dead sleep, heart pounding and unable to drift back off. He didn't want to admit it, but there was still a part of him that thought he might wake up to a note and an empty flat. There was still a part of him that thought Draco would leave again and not tell him.

But every morning he woke. The flat was quiet, but it was still _lived_ in. Draco often left before he woke. He had a schedule and the stall didn't wait for people having a lie in.

Theodore would eat whatever was left out for him and after a short shower, he would make his way down to the market to join Draco and Anwar for the day.

"Alright, alright," he said finally in response to another round of tapping from the window. Flipping the latch, he pushed on the frame and cracked it open to retrieve the letter that a rather frazzled looking owl held out. The bird gave him an indigent hoot before clicking its beak at him and taking flight.

Theodore looked at the letter, the red ink stamp on the back all too familiar. While Draco didn't receive owls, he'd said something about putting extensive anti-tracking wards on a leather band he wore around his wrist, Theodore had no such protection. And his mother's letter had found him. Stuffing the envelope into his camera bag, Theodore told himself he'd read it later. Then he quickly got himself ready, grabbing a couple of apples from the bowl of fruit on the counter and left the flat.

It never failed to surprise him how busy the market was every day and he wove through the crowds, dodging shoppers who were haggling prices until he found Draco's table.

"Snack?" he said by way of greeting and held out one of the apples.

Draco paused in his work, which at the moment consisted of pouring out small phials of samples of his mood lifting draught. People loved getting anything for free, and when they were in a better mood, they were more likely to buy his wares. He handed off the pipette and bottle of potion to Anwar so he could direct his attention to Theodore and his proffered treat.

"That is on time, mate." 

Draco had been up before the sun this morning, and a mid-morning bit of fruit was a perfect little pick me up. He bit into the apple, savouring the mostly sweet and slightly tart flavour of its flesh. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anwar finish filling the phials and start arranging them into a display where they would catch the most attention from the busy shoppers. The boy was taking more initiative lately, doing things without waiting for Draco to direct him. Draco had a mind to teach the lad some of his proprietary potions if he kept on this way.

He turned to make some quip to Theodore about lazing about and replacing him with Anwar - standard fare these days, really - when he felt a rumble go through the marketplace.

 _An earthquake?_ Draco had time to think that they were not unheard of in this part of the world, when a flash of green light immediately disproved the theory.

Draco saw black robes, silver masks, and another jet of green light. His eyes desperately found Theo's, and then his world exploded into splinters of wood, shards of glass, smoke, and the screams of shoppers.

When the dust cleared somewhat, Theodore found himself staring up at a brilliantly blue sky. The pristine cotton-like clouds made the roar of voices and terrified cries for help in languages he couldn't understand feel out of place. He also realised that he was having a hard time breathing. It wasn't that he had been injured, he thought. The weight pressing down on his chest was that of Draco. He didn't remember how he had managed it, but by some small miracle he'd had the split second to lunge forward and latch onto his friend, pulling him to the side of the stall the moment before it exploded.

A wild panicked thought shot through his head and he struggled to sit up. Had Draco been hurt? Worse... killed?

 _Get up,_ he commanded himself, and also silently pleaded to his friend, stretching out his hand to the camera bag laying off to the side. If he could just reach it. His wand was just inside the pocket.

"Master..." a pained voice called out from where the potions stand had once been. Theodore craned his neck and saw Anwar pinned beneath broken table parts and collapsed shelves. Cuts ran across his brow, blood coating his forehead and his dark hair.. A shard of glass protruded from one of the wounds, all of the potion bottles having exploded only moments before. The look on his face could only be described as terror.

Theodore reached harder for his bag, groaning as a sharp pain tore through his shoulder. A string of curses tumbled from his mouth and he wished his wandless magic was more refined. "Draco... Draco where's your wand?"

The teenage boy called out again. "Master, I'm trapped!"

Anwar's voice, distant, and Theodore's, closer, both equally urgent, filtered through the ringing that battered the interior of Draco's skull. He felt like he'd been trampled by an erumpent. 

Draco tried to draw a breath, but drew in a lungful of dust and debris, his body racking with coughs. Feebly, he pressed up and away from Theodore's body, trying to lift himself off of his friend. He rolled to the side, ending up on his back next to Theo. 

"My wand?" Draco cast his eyes wretchedly toward the stall. His wand was somewhere in all that rubble, where he'd been using it to stir the mood lifting draught. 

He watched in horror as Anwar struggled, blood pouring from a grievous wound, unable to free himself from the remains of the stall. Stretching his hand out toward the boy, Draco chanted desperately, but he was too hurt himself. The rubble stayed where it was, and so did Anwar.

With Draco off of him, Theodore shifted over and snatched up his bag, fumbling in the side pocket for his wand. Why hadn't he kept it on him? What good did it do him in his bag? What sort of wizard was he to be so disarmed like this? His fingers curled around the smooth wood and he pulled his wand free, swinging his arm back to hold it out. Time didn't seem to be running properly though. Everything seemed slow and sluggish, from his movements, to Anwar's panicked expression to the dark shape standing just beyond what remained of Draco's potion display.

Theodore blinked the shape seemed to split into two. Not one single wizard, but a pair. Dark robes and silver masks and a cackling laughter that was familiar enough that it made his blood turn to ice.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd read about the few Death Eaters who were still in hiding. Each capture was less impressive to the newspapers as time wore on. Each victory by the aurors relegated to page four or five and only given a couple of column inches. With Voldemort gone and no immediate danger, people just didn't want to worry about the stragglers who were still on the run.

Maybe they should have paid more attention.

Pointing his wand at the young boy, Theodore was fully prepared to free him. But to his horror, the other wizards were also pointing their wands. And it happened too quickly. The shockingly green light that blasted from their wand tips happened so quickly. Anwar's body dangled limply over a part of the table, his eyes now lifeless and unfocused.

Then those metal faces and wands turned toward him. And Draco.

Looking at those familiar masks, Draco felt a cold chill go through his body, despite the Moroccan heat. Death Eaters. Here in Marrakesh. _Why?_

The pair stood too far away for Draco to recognize them by the masks they wore. There was only a short list of free Death Eaters that they could be, but Draco's mind felt too stunned to run through it. His whole body ached from the explosion, his head was ringing, and his heart was breaking over Anwar. 

Draco saw the wand pointed in his and Theodore's direction, and true fear took hold of him. Maybe what he was about to do was cowardly, but his wand was buried in rubble, and he'd already seen the hooded figures casually kill a teenage boy who was entirely innocent. He wasn't going to stand there and watch the green light erupt from their wand again, and this time lose Theodore or die himself.

He'd never done a wandless Apparation before, but in a split second decision, he summoned all the strength he had left, gripped Theodore tight, and pictured his apartment. He prayed he didn't splinch them both.

The screams in the market first went muffled before disappearing all together. Theodore hit the floor of Draco's flat with a groan, still clutching his camera bag and his own wand. The shooting pain he'd felt only moments before at the market knifed its way again from his left shoulder toward the middle of his back and with a strangled noise Theodore rolled onto his stomach. Sucking in a breath he tried to shake the ringing from his ears and push himself up, but cried out when his arm buckled, unable to support his weight, and he fell back onto the ground.

He'd never been splinched before. Was this what it felt like?

"Draco," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Are you alright?"

It felt like a stupid question. He knew he was most certainly not alright himself, why would Draco be any different? Anwar had just been murdered in front of them. Death Eaters had destroyed everything that Draco had worked toward in Morocco and there was neither rhyme nor reason as to why. Everything was turned upside down and he suspected that Potter and his auror team would most likely descend upon the country once word got out. Wasn't that the usual pattern?

Theodore tried pushing himself up again, using his uninjured arm and managed to get to where he was on his knees.

Draco sank to his knees, on a level with Theodore. He felt shell-shocked. Anwar. Death Eaters. Anwar killed by Death Eaters. What would he tell Anwar's lovely mother? That no one would ever be safe around him, so sorry?

He heard Theodore groan, and looked over at his friend. A giant hunk of splintered wood protruded from the other man's shoulder. Draco felt his stomach turn over.

"Theo. Your shoulder." Draco blanched. He didn't have his wand, and he was utterly spent. But his friend needed to be healed. _Think,_ he told himself sternly. Theodore still gripped his own wand. "Let me see your wand. Well. No. Let me go get you some pain-killing potion. Then let me see your wand."

He heaved himself to his feet to go fetch the potion from his personal stores in his bedroom. It was good to have a task to focus on. It kept him from breaking down sobbing.

Theodore watched Draco disappear into his bedroom. Finally unclenching his fist, he let go of his wand and heard it clatter to floor beside his knee. Reaching up, he felt around his shoulder, grimacing at the rough protrusion. When he brought his hand back, his fingertips were dotted with blood. Theodore rubbed his hand against his jeans, staining them in the process as he looked around for a means to get up off the floor and sit properly. Taking a deep breath, he shifted over to the low coffee table and used it to push himself up. Every movement caused more pain to spread across his back and even lowering himself onto the sofa caused something to shift and scrape. He was unable to stop the groan from climbing out of his throat.

When Draco returned, potion bottle in hand, Theodore pointed at his wand on the floor.

"There," he said. He began to turn his head toward the window, but the motion made everything hurt and he pinched his eyes shut. "Do you think you could summon your own wand from here?"

Theodore couldn't remember the last time he'd had to summon something over a distance larger than his own house and he hoped that Draco was able to manage. It was possible. And it certainly wouldn't be the first time Draco had used the twelve and three-quarter inch rowan belonging to Theodore; they'd often swapped unintentionally during class or study periods in the Great Hall without having their spells backfire.

He looked up at Draco and wasn't sure if the ashen look to his face was due to the debris they'd been buried in or the events that had transpired.

Draco swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He wasn't sure how strong his magic would be right now; it always faltered when he was emotional, and especially when he was frightened. And he was very frightened. He didn't like to admit it, but he'd lived among Death Eaters and he was all too aware of how single-minded they could be in pursuit of a target. For whatever reason, he and Theodore were their mission. Draco didn't think the dark wizards would stop until he and his best mate were destroyed in every sense of the word. His life had been transitory for the last several years, but he hadn't truly been running from danger, at least intentionally. He knew now that had changed.

"I'll try," he finally said, taking Theodore's wand. The wood felt familiar and yet wrong in his grasp, like it always had. 

Draco pictured his own wand, ten inches of hawthorn filled with unicorn hair, with a faint whiff of Harry Potter curling through it. Potter had let himself be disarmed by Draco when he'd returned the wand to him, so Draco would once again be its master, but the taint of Potter had always remained. Draco was used to it by now.

" _Accio wand!_ " Draco could hear the quaver in his voice, and knew that would never do. He mustered all the strength he could find, and shoved the fear deep inside himself. His voice was assertive when he said again, " _ACCIO WAND!!!_ "

Draco felt the tug, the pull of the bond between himself and his wand, and knew the spell had worked. He could only hope no Muggles saw the pliant, polished stick of wood winging its way from the marketplace to Draco's apartment.

A few moments later, the wand sailed through an open window. Draco reached up to catch it, his Seeker reflexes kicking in. He placed Theodore's wand next to where his friend lay on the sofa. He aimed his own wand at his friend, and began the healing spells.

At some point Draco had pressed the potion bottle into his hand. Theodore used his teeth to pull the little stopper, spitting the cork onto the floor before taking a long swig of its contents. With a grimace he swallowed and although the pain didn't entirely disappear, it definitely dulled. The ache and disconnect reminded him of the one disastrous time that Draco had tried to convince him to join the Slytherin quidditch team. But brooms were unlike horses and Theodore was unused to flying while wielding a Beater's club or taking directions shouted from an impatient team captain.

The end result had been a broken collar bone and three day stay in the hospital wing.

And Theodore's permanent place in the stands. He was better as an observer than a player.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice tight. He wasn't sure what he was apologising for, but he knew he was sorry. Sorry for that poor boy. Sorry that he'd disrupted Draco's life. Sorry that the pained look on his friend's face and the thought that this could be the reason Draco would leave again. That he would go deeper into hiding and that Theodore would never find him again.

Reaching back to feel his shoulder, Theodore let out a breath. The shard of wood was gone and although it wasn't completely mended, he could tell that the wound was at least sealed. It would be his first noticeable scar, he realised and with a groan he pushed himself up into a sitting position, his back against the arm of the sofa, his legs stretched out. Glib comments battled their way to the front of his mouth and he desperately wanted to make light of the whole thing, but the weight of what had just transpired was too heavy and he pressed his lips together to hold the comments back.

"I haven't... I've been neglecting the news. I don't even know who hasn't been captured," he said after a long moment. "I thought they'd all been rounded up by now."

Draco bit back the snarky _Evidently not_ that wanted to escape his mouth. _You respond to fear by being cruel,_ Pansy had once said to him, with painful accuracy, during his sixth year at Hogwarts. He'd been breaking things off with her. She'd been correct. Draco didn't want to be cruel to Theodore - not Theodore, who had chased him halfway around the world when everyone else had given up on him. Theodore, who he held more closely to his heart than just about any other person he knew. 

Taking a steadying breath, Draco said tiredly, "Why should you have to? Keeping track of Death Eaters is an auror's job, not yours." He sat on the floor, his back resting against the edge of the sofa near Theodore's shoulder, not making eye contact. "There were some of them presumed dead at Hogwarts, when they probably shouldn't have been. And some who've been on the move, I'm sure, trying to avoid Azkaban."

Draco turned slightly, craning his neck so he could look at his friend. "We need to leave, though."

He'd said the word _we_ without even thinking, and it made him hesitate. Who was he to assume that Theodore was ready to take up a vagabond's life with him? Draco only knew he didn't want to be alone. The thought of going back to that unbearable loneliness, coupled with his grief over Anwar, pricked at the back of his eyes and his throat.

"I mean," he said, turning away from Theodore again and closing his eyes in an effort to halt the tears that threatened, "that we each need to go away somewhere. Morocco is not safe any longer." Draco raked his hand back through his hair, leaving it even more disheveled than it already was. "I've an idea where I might go. You could join me, though I understand completely if you just want to go back to England. This isn't your fight." 

"And it shouldn't be yours," Theodore said. 

He looked around the flat, an ache in his heart for all that Draco was losing and had lost in mere moments. It had been a life here, Draco's life, and now it lay in shambles with a cloud of death hanging above them. Theodore's stomach turned wretchedly at the thought of Draco disappearing and him going back to England without his friend. He wouldn't do it. He couldn't do it.

Reaching out, he gripped Draco's shoulder, both gently and firmly and when their eyes met, Theodore gave his friend a quick nod.

"We go together," he said. "Wherever it is, we go together."


End file.
